Symphony
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: Josh, Donna, and that pressure-filled day on the calendar.


I feel like it's possible that I've royally screwed up the most important relationship of my life. It only took me three months to do it. That's got to be some kind of record.

The day started off so well, too. Really well.

Granted, it was nothing exceptional, but any morning I get to wake up with Donna seems to be a pretty good one. I opened my eyes and there she was, already smiling at me. We didn't have a whole lot of time before we needed to get up and ready for work, so we only got to do a little bit of kissing and groping before forcing ourselves out of bed, Donna nearly killing me as she pulled off her skimpy tank top and even skimpier underwear on the way to the shower. Still, I knew that if I followed her in there, we'd wind up being incredibly late for work, and I don't know if I'm ready for that kind of mocking from my staff. At least not in the first thirty days.

It's been more than a little hectic since President Santos took office last month. We've had to hit the ground running, and all the new people we brought in to work in the administration have had no choice but to learn on the fly. Those of us who've done it before have been doing our best to offer guidance when we can. Donna's been a godsend, splitting her time between the First Lady and helping keep things organized and running in my part of the building. It's not at all her job, but Mrs. Santos is still getting her feet wet and hasn't been opposed to her Chief of Staff being farmed out on occasion. The West Wing appreciates it because she's brilliant and has her own way of looking at things that always seem to put everything into perspective. I appreciate it for those reasons, and because it means I get to see her a little during the day, something we knew wouldn't happen a whole lot when we got into office. I'm trying not to get used to her being there—because I know her own job will start kicking into high gear soon—but being able to spend a good portion of my day working with her, then going home with her, is kind of my idea of perfect. And, you know, it's not that Sam isn't doing a good job as Deputy, it's just that I'm having a hard time trying to figure out why I didn't offer that position to Donna. Having her by my side like that, being my right hand and knowing we don't even have to speak in full sentences to understand each other, would have been amazing. It's also easy to understand why we ignored any and all feelings for each other for so many years—we're a great team at work. It would be way too easy to fall back into that pattern.

Then again, now that I know what it's like to be openly and wildly in love with her, I don't think I could go back to suppressing it. As much as I love having Donna by my side at work, it doesn't even come close to knowing I get to go home with her at the end of the day.

But, it's been busy. The President has been doing his best to shoo people off at relatively decent times as often as possible, and he usually disappears for an hour each day to say hi to his kids and to spend a little bit of time with them. I know he wants us have some sort of balance in our lives, a balance that wasn't there under President Bartlet, when we can. A year ago, I would have thought he was insane. Now, I can't stand the idea of needlessly working until past midnight every day, getting a couple hours of sleep and running on fumes voluntarily. Again, knowing the person I always convinced to stay late with me at work is going home with me instead makes for a nice incentive.

Today has been no exception to the busyness—everyone has been running around, yelling from office to office, trying to accomplish the impossible so we can prove to the American people that they didn't make a mistake in electing us. I don't know that I looked up from my desk until my stomach started growling and I went to hide in Donna's massive office for lunch. The place really is huge—probably bigger than the apartment she crammed herself into with a roommate back when she first got to DC. Much to the surprise of everyone who knows me, I haven't been jealous or felt inadequate because my girlfriend has a bigger office than I do. On the contrary, I'm so stupidly proud of her and what she's accomplished for herself, and if there's a person more deserving of an office like that, I'd like to meet them.

It's a good place to disappear for a little while, too. I can still be in the building, but the East Wing isn't exactly in anyone's path, so people don't usually "drop by" while I'm there. We don't always get to eat together while at work, but when we do, it tends to be in her part of the building. Today we actually had just over half an hour to ourselves before life took over again, but I tried to appreciate it for what it was. I also tried desperately, as I do nearly every day at this point, to not grab Donna and run off somewhere—somewhere we can be alone for more than a couple of hours a day, and where we could have normal, boring jobs that wouldn't interfere with our personal life so much. She thinks I'd go crazy without the work, but I know for a fact that I could live without all the grind if the alternative was being with her.

Also, if I'd done that by now, I wouldn't have managed to screw up so massively.

She never said anything, though. Maybe she was waiting for me. Maybe she's still waiting for me.

I didn't even know what day it was until I'd made my way back to the office after lunch and Sam asked me what Donna and I were doing for Valentine's Day.

How the hell do I manage to forget Valentine's Day? I'm in a relationship with Donna Moss—whom I have loved for a lot longer than three months—and _I forgot Valentine's Day_.

My only saving grace at that moment was that Sam was lost in his own little world, telling me happily how his fiancée, who hasn't been able to move to DC yet, was in town for a few days and all the things he had planned to celebrate, and he didn't notice that I felt like I was two inches tall.

Donna means everything to me and I forgot about the holiday that is dedicated for that purpose. She's going to hate me.

I wound up being wildly distracted for the rest of the day—berating myself took up a lot of my time. I spent lots of time on the phone, making calls and trying to figure out something that wouldn't look like I'd waited until the last minute, or like I'd actually forgotten the whole day. It was impossible to get a reservation anywhere worthwhile, and sending her flowers that late in the day would probably set off all kinds of alarms, and that's about the extent of my romantic notions. I couldn't exactly sweep her off to Hawaii again, and I don't know if it'd even mean as much after going there in November. Jewelry is always nice, but the only thing I could think of at the last minute like that is a piece that I'm not particularly ready to hand over at this point. I'm even less inclined to make that sort of gesture because I know I'd wind up telling her at some point that I proposed to her because I forgot Valentine's Day, and I'm a hundred percent sure that's the way to end a relationship.

She never even mentioned the holiday, though—not once! Not today, not yesterday, not last week, nothing. I'm not an expert at relationships and I haven't really been in one during this time of the year, but it seems like the sort of thing people usually remind others about. In fact, I don't remember anyone mentioning it at all, though once I realized what day it was, I looked around the office and noticed that there was definitely a holiday theme. It was subtle and understated, but there were some paper hearts floating around, and there were an awful lot of flowers on desks. Not on Donna's desk, though—noooooo. No, I'm the schmuck who didn't think it was important to remember his girlfriend on the holiday _assigned to love_. Everyone's gonna know it, too. She's not going to have to say anything—the complete absence of anything that so much as bears a resemblance to a floral arrangement anywhere near her office will speak volumes.

I'm the worst person in the world and I don't deserve her. All I can do is hope she forgives me and doesn't make me suffer too long. Five to ten years seems fair.

To make matters worse, she's been acting a little weird for the last hour. Everything was completely normal during lunch, but ever since she dragged me out of the office just after eight, she's seemed…I don't know. Anxious isn't the right word, but she's definitely off. She didn't say much on the ride back to my apartment, and when she did talk, she used as few words as possible. The only thing I can think of, and I'm pretty sure about this one, is that she's pissed at me. Rightfully so, but I wish she'd just come out and flog me. She's probably waiting until we get into the building before letting me have it, and will probably be packing her bags at the same time.

I mean, there's the slight possibility that because I've been twitchy, she's responding to that, but I doubt it. I know I've been acting weird since we left the White House, but I don't think she's responding to that. I've managed to find a way to make a very small peace-offering for my complete and utter fumble tonight, but it's not going to be enough.

My only consolation right now is that she's letting me hold her hand on the way upstairs. She feels a little tense, but at least she's not completely blowing me off. Taking a chance, I lift her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. She glances over at me and smiles, though there's an odd look in her eyes. "Everything okay?" I ask softly, hoping she can't hear the nervous tremor in my voice.

"Fine," she answers immediately, which lets me know that it's absolutely not. "Long day. I'm ready for a very hot shower and to crawl into bed."

"Everything's clear, Mr. Lyman." I look up quickly, startled by the voice of one of the Secret Service agents—Gus—positioned outside my door. I knew it was coming when I got the Chief of Staff position, but I still haven't gotten used to having these guys lurking around every corner. "Have a good evening, sir. You, too, Miss Moss." He averts his eyes, constantly sweeping them up and down the hall, as if he expects would-be assassins to literally crawl out of the woodwork.

"Thank you, Gus," Donna answers, smiling at him sincerely, and even though he doesn't make eye contact, I swear his cheeks turn just the faintest shade of pink. Everyone has a crush on Donna. Everyone. I don't blame them, but it's still somewhere between amusing and annoying.

I suppose, though, after she dumps my ass tonight, she'll have her options of who to fall back on. It's good for her but it makes my stomach turn inside out.

She looks at me oddly when I don't move to open the door—in my defense, I feel completely frozen. I have this sudden, horrible, fast-forwarded movie version of a life without Donna in it and it roots me to my spot. It's horrible. It's nauseating. She takes the keys out of my hand and turns the knob, but I manage to pull myself together enough to push it open for her.

Somehow, she manages to watch me as she walks into the apartment, her forehead crinkled in what's either confusion or concern. I smile weakly, truly hoping I'm exaggerating the severity of my blunder and that I don't have to go back to waking up alone.

"Oh, my God," she gasps, stopping so fast that I crash into her back, grabbing onto her shoulders to keep her from falling forward.

I look around the apartment, relieved to see that everything looks better than I expected. The lights are low, the table seems to be set nicely, candles flickering, and the aroma wafting through air would seem to indicate that there's food in the kitchen, waiting to be served. I breathe a small sigh, relaxing just a little.

I nudge the door shut behind me and she turns to face me, her eyes wide and watery. "Josh," she whispers. "What did you do?"

"It's nothing," I answer, feeling my feet shuffle nervously.

"It's not nothing. It's _not_ nothing. How did you—oh, my God!" She flings her arms around me and I bury my face into her hair, holding her tight to me. She likes it. Maybe she'll forgive me for waiting until the last minute.

"Donna—"

"Josh, this is amazing."

"I forgot Valentine's Day," I blurt out, unable to stop myself. "I forgot it. Or, actually, I didn't even realize what day it was. I'm so sorry. I promise you, I didn't mean to. It's just that with everything that's been going on and we haven't even been in office for a month and it just never…I'm sorry."

She pulls away from me, staring in shock. "You for _got_ Valentine's Day?"

I close my eyes, feeling worse about this than maybe anything else in my life. "I know, I—"

"You forgot Valentine's Day and you still managed to do all this?"

I shrug, doing my best to avoid looking at her. "It's not much."

"Are you kidding me? It's perfect!"

My head snaps up and stare at her. "Donna, you don't have to—"

Her eyes water again, one tiny tear streaking down her cheek. "You got dinner catered at the last minute on one of the busiest restaurant holidays of the year. It's incredible."

I smile a little, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "I guess I have some pull around here." Sure, the title helped, but so did a lot of begging to the owners of one of her favorite restaurants, as well as the promise of more money than anyone should ever spend on a meal for two. To be fair, if I hadn't forgotten what day it was, I wouldn't have had to pay extra to make sure she knew how I special she is to me, so I have no one to blame but myself for this one. Of course, that's to say nothing of the begging and pleading I had to do with the Secret Service guys to actually be at the apartment and let a couple of strangers in to set up the world's most impromptu Valentine's celebration, because the groveling was substantial. It bordered on humiliating, though I'd do it again if I needed to. In the end, I think the affection all of the agents have for her is what won out. They didn't want Donna disappointed.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I shake my head, unwrapping myself from her and grab her hands, squeezing them lightly. "I messed up. I'm so, so sorry. I understand if you're mad at me—I know this is a huge deal—"

"No, Josh, it isn't. It's just a day."

"It's just a—" I sputter, disbelieving. "No, I totally blew it. Our first Valentine's Day together and I _forget_ it?"

"You've got to stop beating yourself up about this."

"Donna—"

She grabs my face, pulling at me until I meet her eyes. "I forgot about Valentine's Day, too."

That stops me cold. "I'm sorry—what?"

She smiles at me ruefully, looking embarrassed. "I completely spaced on what day it was. I have no reason to be mad at you, especially because you forgot and then managed to pull all of this together. I, on the other hand, thought that if I just didn't mention it, since _you_ hadn't mentioned it, that we'd just let the day pass and pretend it never happened." A strange look passes over her face and she lets me go, moving to flop down on the couch. "Oh, God! I'm horrible! I'm completely horrible. You did all this and all I did was—"

I sit down on the coffee table in front of her, pulling her into my arms. "All you've done is make me happier than I've ever been in my entire life. _That's_ why I feel so horrible about missing today."

She shakes her head, pulling back to look up at me through her eyelashes. "So, we both managed to forget this stupid day."

"In our defense, you know…"

"It's been three weeks since the Inauguration and we've hardly had time to talk to each other since then?"

I smile, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Something like that."

She sighs, grinning at me broadly. "You did all this?"

"Well, I made a lot of calls and asked for a lot of favors."

"This is really amazing, you know that, right?"

"It's just dinner."

"Josh, it's so much more than that."

I glance over my shoulder, checking to make sure I haven't missed something big. "I don't think…"

"This is so much better than going to some crowded restaurant. I mean it. I'd rather hang out here with you any day of the week than anywhere else. _Even_ on Valentine's Day."

I look at her cautiously. "You're not mad that I forgot about it?"

"No," she answers softly, smiling at me gently.

"Because I really feel like you should be really pissed."

"How can I be mad at you about this when I forgot it myself?"

I shrug, not really having an answer. _I'm_ mad at myself for forgetting it, though I'm not miffed in the slightest that didn't remember. I like to celebrate special days with her and all I can do is feel like I've let her down.

"When did you realize what today is?" she asks, resting her hand on my knee.

I shake my head, sighing. "A little after I left your office. Sam asked me what we were doing tonight."

She chuckles, her cheeks turning pink. "You're doing better than I am. I had no idea until Mrs. Santos said something about it as she was leaving to have dinner with the kids."

"You seriously forgot about it? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

"I really forgot."

"I thought women made a big deal out of this holiday."

She looks offended and I cringe, realizing how that sounded. "Maybe some women do. I had a boss who always made me work on this day, if you'll recall."

"Your boss sounds like a bastard," I answer sheepishly.

"He had his moments." She pauses, smiling at me. "Josh."

"Yeah?"

"This really is amazing. I can only imagine what you had to do to make this happen at the last minute, and you have no idea how much I appreciate it, but I have to tell you something."

I can't even imagine. "Oh, God, what?"

"I don't really care that much about Valentine's Day."

"Right," I answer with a snort.

"Seriously. This particular holiday doesn't matter to me."

"Really? Because it seems like it matters to you, what with the excitement and all."

"It matters that you wanted to make the effort—the day on the calendar isn't important in the slightest. You could have done this in the middle of August and it would mean just as much. I just want you to know that it's not important to me that we do something big for the day, in case, you know…next year. I mean, I don't _mind_ celebrating it at all if you want to—"

"No, no—let's make something clear. I don't care about Valentine's Day, either."

"But, you did all—"

"I need you to understand that I care about exactly one thing—you."

Her eyes go as wide as saucers and she shakes her head. "Josh…"

"No, really." I take her hands in mine, tugging her a little closer. "When it comes down to it and if I ever had to pick, it's you and making you happy. If you care about it, I'll care about it. If Valentine's Day makes you happy, then I'll care my ass off about it. If you care about…the lifespan of the domesticated fruit fly, then by God, I'll care about it, too."

"Okay, that's—"

"You're my whole world, Donna. For the first time ever, I get to be public about that. I want to make you happy. Seeing you happy makes me happy. So, I stressed about this holiday because it's an important one and I blew it."

She smiles at me sweetly, squeezing my fingers. "It's not that important."

"It's our first Valentine's Day!"

"Josh…" she trails off, sighing. "Josh." She tugs at my hands and I take the hint, moving to sit next to her on the couch. "We've spent how many Valentine's Days together now?"

"Not like this."

"Josh, the only difference is that we're sleeping together now. I loved you then and getting to spend the day together made me happy. It was all I wanted. It's all I want now. You don't have to spend oodles of money on flowers and restaurants, not to prove that you love me, not on today of all days. I really would rather you put thought into a nothing day for no reason than feel obligated to shower me with romance and attention because of what it says on a calendar."

"Donna, I don't feel like I _have_ to go all out—"

"But you kind of do, right? I mean, you're stressing out about February 14th because guys are supposed to make big gestures for their girlfriends."

"Well, kinda, yeah!"

"Says who?"

I open my mouth to answer, surprised when nothing comes out. I close it, though my jaw falls open almost right away. "What?"

"Who says you have to go all out today?"

"Everyone!"

She rolls her eyes. "Convention says it, Josh. Endless commercials and magazine ads and everyone who talks about it nonstop and gets their expectations ridiculously high about how romantic it's supposed to be." She shifts, turning her body toward me. "Honey, you don't have to do all that. I don't need it. I don't _want_ it, not if it's something you wouldn't do any other day of the year. I don't want you getting all bent out of shape because you think this is something you're supposed to do, all right?"

"But…I still feel like an absolute ass for forgetting what day it was."

"Cut yourself some slack. We haven't even been in office for a month, and you're only the second most powerful and influential man in the country. You've been a little preoccupied, and I'm the slightest bit offended. I know what goes into this job, and I know how hard you work. It's really okay."

"It just feels like it can't bode well for…" My voice trails off, my brain suddenly coming to a halt, gears grinding so loudly I'm surprised she can't hear it. "Did you…did you call me 'honey'?"

Her entire body freezes and I'd swear she was getting ready to bolt. "No, I—I—no, I didn't…did I?"

Despite everything—my annoyance with myself for missing this day and how I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for it, not to mention the million and a half things going on in our lives that continue to add stress—I feel a smile pull at my lips.

"You did," I answer, nearly in a whisper. "That's the first time you've done that."

She lets out a noise and stands abruptly, shrugging out of her heavy winter coat. She takes her time hanging it up, studiously avoiding my gaze. "Let's not, you know, make a thing out of it."

"But it was so cute," I answer, the smile on my face so big it's making my cheeks ache.

"You're such a pain in my ass," she mumbles.

In what I assume is a wise decision, I keep any further remarks to myself—I know it's not coming out the way I want it to. The pet name is so unexpected and actually wonderful that it's enough to distract me from my giant blunder today. I stand up and follow her to the coat rack, shedding my own jacket and hanging it up.

"Donna," I whisper, putting my hand on her back, and she finally turns to face me. She stares at me for a moment, waiting to see if I'm going to tease her about my new moniker, but I stay quiet

"Spending the evening here with you on Valentine's Day is the best thing I could imagine," she answers. "You didn't have to do this, but it makes me happy that you managed it. For future reference, all I want on this day is to spend some time with you. I'm not playing any games and I'm not doing that thing where I say one thing and mean another. I know that as long as you're Chief of Staff, anything could happen and you could wind up being completely absent on Valentine's Day. I won't hold that against you. We'll find another day."

I wrap my arms around her waist, sighing happily. "I don't deserve you."

"No, you don't." She steps toward me, her arms going around my neck.

"You're perfect."

She snorts, rolling her eyes. "Not hardly."

"I love you so much."

Her answering smile is instant and takes over her entire face. "I love you, too."

I lean in, pressing my lips to hers, and it's only then that I realize I haven't done this since before work this morning. We don't really do the whole kissing thing at work—in fact, we try to keep it as professional as possible, more so than the first time we worked at the White House—but it's not uncommon for us to greet or part affectionately after lunch, especially if we've managed to leave the building for the meal. Every time I kiss her, I wonder why I waited so long to do it in the first place, and then I wonder how I manage to not kiss her all day.

"You hungry?" I finally ask, rubbing light circles on her back, and she nods.

"Famished, actually." She kisses me again, softly, and then ducks out of my arms. "I'm just gonna go change first."

I watch fondly as she walks toward the bedroom, hopping a couple of times as she pulls off her shoes on the way. One of the most entertaining things about sharing a living space with Donna—and one of my favorite things, if I'm being honest—is that at almost the exact moment she walks through the door, she takes off her work clothes. It's absolutely fascinating. I haven't mentioned it to her yet because I'm worried that if I do, she'll become aware of the process and stop doing it. I'm assuming it has a lot to do with women's business attire being a lot less comfortable than men's, but I love to see it happen. It's one of my favorite quirks.

I follow her down the hall a moment later, tugging at my tie as I go. I pause when I get to the doorway, not surprised to see her standing in shock, still mostly clothed.

"What is this?" she asks, staring at the bed.

I lean against the doorframe, feeling a smile take over my face yet again. "Well, I know how much you hated the brown comforter."

She runs her hand over her blanket lovingly; the pale blue and silver combination actually looks pretty good in the room. It's been relegated to the spare room since some point in December, mostly because I really am a pain in her ass. "But I thought…you'd said…"

"I just want to make you happy," I answer with a shrug, finally managing to pull off my tie as I walk the rest of the way into the room, my suit jacket and shoes following quickly thereafter. "If this makes you happy…"

She looks up at me, grinning as I stand beside her. It's such a small thing, because I really couldn't care less what sort of comforter is on the bed as long as she's lying next to me, but it makes her happy and, well, that's really all that matters to me.

"But how did you manage it? It wasn't like this when we left this morning."

"Some things are better left to the imagination." And that's the absolute truth. She doesn't need to know how much more begging I had to do to get one of the guys to switch the covers for me. I can't say for certain that they did—I just know that they made it happen. Again, it was for Donna, and that seemed to be the selling point in this whole debacle.

She turns and wraps her arms around me again, resting her head in the crook of my neck. "Thank you," she whispers. "I'd kind of gotten used to the brown one but…thank you."

I hug her in response, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Somehow, even after a long day, she still smells so…clean. Not that she ever really smells dirty or anything, but it's just this wonderful, fresh, pure, Donna-smell. It's what relaxes me as I fall asleep, and what greets me when I wake up, and even what follows me during the day, a little piece of her somehow always attached to me.

I lose track of time as we hold each other, though I suddenly become aware that we're slowly swaying back and forth, almost dancing. She's humming in my ear, though it's not any tune I recognize. It may not even anything more than mindless humming. I tighten my hold on her and move us a little more definitively, more like we're actually dancing, almost surprised that I don't care that it's something I might have thought was dumb and pointless at any other moment in my life.

She sighs and lifts her head, and I immediately press my forehead to hers. She hums a little louder, probably not even aware that she's doing it, and I suddenly realize I'm humming, too. It's still nothing I recognize, but we're in sync with it anyway.

It occurs to me in that moment that I no longer associate music with sirens. I probably haven't for a really long time, but it hits me all the same. Music doesn't trigger anything in me other than a profound happiness. I know that has a lot to do with the woman in my arms—this wonderful, sweet, caring, funny, adorable woman. She's gotten me through so much over the years, always without asking for anything in return. She gives because that's who she is.

All the more reason why I feel bad for botching this whole day when she deserves for it to be special. She deserves for every day to be special.

Still, she really doesn't seem upset with me about this, and I certainly don't feel mad that she forgot about it, too. It is just a day on a calendar, no matter how important people like to make it seem. As long as I always remember to show her what she means to me, we'll be fine.

I sigh and smile, holding her tighter. Truthfully, this is the way I'd want to celebrate Valentine's Day; just the two of us hiding away from the rest of the world, not worrying about running into politicians and reporters while we're out at some restaurant, shaking hands and avoiding personal questions. Slow dancing to music only we can hear next to the bed we share every night, food waiting for us out in the kitchen for whenever we're ready…yeah, this is kind of perfect.

Her head makes its way back to my shoulder, the song she's making up still quiet in my ear. My eyes fall shut, my body relaxing completely against hers. No; I definitely don't hear sirens in my head when music plays.

I hear a symphony.

* * *

CHEESY ENDING FOR THE WIN! I hope you enjoyed that heavy dose of frommage.

I had this harebrained idea to write yet another holiday-themed story about a week ago. I had zero thoughts about the content of said story…as you can see, I had zero thoughts during the writing of the story, too. Not my strongest offering, but maybe you'll enjoy it anyway. It was only at the last minute that I decided to throw in that callback to Noel, and I only really kept it because of that last line. It's so wonderfully sappy that I couldn't resist it.

This includes crazy amounts of references to the other story that I'm STILL typing up; some things you can discern on your own, some will make more sense once that other story in let loose upon the world. I still have some other stuff to post, but every time I reread them, I find typos and shizz so I'm still editing. This one will probably have lots of errors since I want it posted for the holiday.

The title is from a song by The Supremes; I started looking into old romantic standards from the 40s and 50s, but this song popped into my head, so I decided to roll with that. I think that's when the tie-in to Noel came. Hell, one of the lyrics is "I hear a symphony," and I thought to myself…give it a shot? See if you can make it work. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't.

Also, for those concerned about my magic notebook…I'm doing my best to keep it safe. I haven't written anything in it for a few weeks, though I've been typing like a madwoman. None of my smutty stuff gets written down by hand—I don't think that was on purpose at first, but now I for sure don't want to leave it in a place where someone could stumble upon it so easily.

Aaaaand that's enough from me. Happy Valentine's Day!


End file.
